


Nuclear Winter

by astralelegies



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Royai Week 2017, Slow Burn, Subterfuge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralelegies/pseuds/astralelegies
Summary: After training for years as an alchemy apprentice under Riza Hawkeye’s father (and fighting side-by-side with her during the Ishvalan war), Roy Mustang finds himself caught at the other end of her gun. Ever since the conflict, Riza has gone rogue, and the whole of Amestris has suffered the consequences. But when a spy amongst the military’s ranks threatens the balance of peace that has hung so precariously since the war’s end, the two former friends must work together once more, and are forced to confront a past they can no longer outrun.(A what-if in seven parts, for Royai Week 2017.)





	1. Chess

**Author's Note:**

> Although nuclear winter is an actual scientific thing, I was inspired for the title by the song "Kelso vs the Moon Landing" by Cavaliers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy plays a game with the General, and remembers.

Chess, Roy knew, was as much a game of sacrifice as it was of strategy. 

These days, it seemed, the people of Amestris—those whose lands had only recently been overtaken, those whose families had lived here for centuries—were all too familiar with the burden of sacrifice. 

Sitting in Grumman’s office, waiting for the General to make his next move, Roy was transported, which happened more often than he’d like to admit, back to the battlefields in Ishval. He was not on the front lines, this time; the war was over, but the consequences were not. 

“Hawkeye.”

She stood across from him in her undershirt and dirty boots, beneath the scorching heat of the Ishvalan sun, her blue military pants the only part of her uniform she hadn’t discarded. Sniper rifle strapped to her back. Gun drawn. 

“Major Mustang.”

She gave just the slightest bit of emphasis to his rank, saying the word like it left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. If she had even hinted at a smile, Roy would have said she was mocking him. He nodded at the weapon in her hands. 

“Is that for me? I’m flattered.”

Her eyes—calm and colder than he’d ever seen them—narrowed. 

“This is no time for your jokes,” she said. 

“I know,” he said, but what else could he do?

“If I kill you,” she said, “the secret of Flame Alchemy dies with you.” 

“If you kill me.” 

It was strange, but he almost wanted to laugh. During the war, his only worry had been getting himself and Hawkeye out alive (and okay, maybe Hughes too). A selfish concern, especially for one who had done so many terrible things, but it had allowed him to survive. And now, this. 

“It won’t work,” he said. “Not with that tattoo of yours.”

“That’s been taken care of.”

Roy didn’t want to think about how. He tried a different tactic. 

“After all this time,” he said, “are you really going to shoot me?”

She paused but did not waver, and any hesitation she may have felt did not reach her expression. That more than anything was what shook him. It was as though they were now strangers to each other. 

“We both knew the risks when you took on this power,” she said. “That was the agreement: as soon as you become a threat to your ideals and your country, I become your executioner.”

Roy bit his lip, unable to look her in the eye amidst the devastation that surrounded them and tell her what she said wasn’t the truth. In a just world, he knew, the result would be the same—he’d be tried as a war criminal, but Hawkeye couldn’t let him die at the cold hands of the state. If she shot him now, she’d do it gently. 

“If you’re going to do this,” he said, “there’s something I should say.”

“Don’t.”

Was it his imagination, or did her arm tremble? She strengthened her stance and took a breath.

“Don’t make this any harder for me than it already is.”

“Riza. It’s not too late. The two of us, we can still do good in this world.”

She considered him a moment, and now Roy thought he could detect a trace of regret bleeding into her features. 

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by that name. I’m sorry, Roy.”

He’d meant never to let her out of his sight, but his reflexes granted him one last betrayal. He closed his eyes before she could shoot. 

“It’s your move.” 

Pulled, though not startled, back to reality, Roy glanced down at the board between him and his commanding officer. It was a close game, and for once he thought he might actually have a chance this time, but he also thought that this was probably a ruse. He considered his strategy in silence a few moments, and then set his piece.

“Your turn.” 

“I must tell you, Mustang,” said the general, “I didn’t call you over here today just to play chess.”

“No?” 

It could be anything, really: a mission, a promotion, or both, if he’s lucky. 

“It seems we have a mole.” 

Roy sucked in a breath. “Is that even possible?”

“That’s what you’re going to find out. It seems this person, whoever they are, is part of a larger organization within the city, gearing up for a plan that could tear up the East all over again.” 

“Sounds serious.”

“Exactly. So I’m pulling your other duties and assigning you to this case immediately.”

“And how do you know I’m not the one you should be worried about?”

“I don’t,” General Grumman said. “But the person who tipped me off assured me you weren’t the culprit.” 

That caught Roy’s attention, even more than the news about a spy in their midst. He leaned back in his chair, hoping to appear casual. He knew his aunt and the General traded information, but surely Grumman wouldn’t trust the word of one of his relatives. 

“This person,” he said. “Who are they?”

“Your partner on this assignment,” said the General. “Former Amestrian military officer Riza Hawkeye.”

Time went still. When the clock started up again, around the same time that Roy remembered he needed to breathe in order to live, it limped along, muddled and mutated like sunlight from underwater. There were a thousand things he could have said, but after gathering his thoughts as best he was able, he settled on the least incriminating. 

“No one’s laid eyes on Riza Hawkeye for years.” 

“She came to us.”

“She’s an enemy of the state.”

“And that’s why the state won’t know about this.” Grumman leaned back in his chair. “On the record, your regular tasks have been suspended for a special diplomatic mission.”

“Sir.” Roy paused, swallowed, and tried again. “You’re asking me to break the law.”

“Not break,” said the General, “bend. You’ll find out soon enough that you can’t get to be where I am without bending the law—and you _do_ want to be where I am, don’t you?” 

Roy couldn’t answer that, but General Grumman knew he was right. 

“You told me once that you trained with Hawkeye’s father as a teenager,” he said. “Think of it…think of it as a reunion.” 

For years, Roy thought, that had been all he wanted: a reunion with Riza Hawkeye, at first as anything other than enemies, and then, after she disappeared for good, he would have sold his soul just to be at the end of her gun again. But the years had made him cautious, too. 

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?”

“Why would she reach out to us now?”

“That’s none of my concern.” Grumman studied the chessboard in silence for a few moments, and then made his move. “If you pull this off, I’ll recommend you for promotion to the Fuhrer myself.” 

Roy nodded, his heart pounding again for a whole new reason. “I had no idea you were so invested.”

“Only curious.” Grumman stood, handing him a scrap of paper. “You are to report to this offsite facility tomorrow morning for the mission briefing.”

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Why, is there something more you wish to speak to me about?”

“It’s just…we haven’t finished our game.”

A slow, sly half-smile broke out on the General’s face, the kind that gave his opponents the nagging fear that they’d been underestimating him all along. 

“I think you’ll find we have. A word of advice, Mustang: never turn your gaze from your opponent’s eye. Sometimes, distraction means death.” 

And with that, he strode out of his own office, the door swinging closed behind him. Roy glanced down at the chessboard. Grumman had managed a checkmate entirely without Roy’s noticing. He really was distracted. 

Yet as he took a closer look, he saw the cost of the General’s victory. Nearly all of his pieces had been sacrificed in order to obtain his win, while Roy’s side had sustained far fewer casualties. He could not have said who paid the higher price.

(In Ishval, too, the war’s end had been tainted with the stench of loss—not just of lives, but of principles. Even if the rest of the country had already moved on, he could never forget it. After all, on that last day, Riza Hawkeye had not come to kill him, but to warn him. She would no longer allow herself to be a pawn.

Before the troops pulled out and she vanished into thin air, she did not shoot. When after a few moments Roy heard no loud sound, felt no surge of pain, he opened his eyes. Hawkeye was gone.)


	2. Black Tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The orchestra at the end of the hall picked up a new tune, some slow fiddle melody that seemed familiar to him, or maybe that was just Hawkeye’s hand in his reminding him of a memory that didn’t really exist, a dream from another time. Out on the center tile, officers swayed along with the music, maintaining a respectable distance from their partners, spouses or co-workers or city flings. The laws against fraternization within the military were strict, but they could be overlooked for one night for a dance between friends, provided it was only that."

As Roy straightened his tie in the mirror of the Grand Hotel’s first-floor bathroom, he distracted himself from the growing nausea in the pit of his stomach by reviewing the previous morning’s briefing.

According to General Grumman, what they knew about the situation was this:

Riza Hawkeye, fugitive and former ace of the Military Academy, had recently returned to the city (for what, General Grumman had said, she wouldn’t tell him) when she caught wind of a scheme to bring the East to the brink of war once again. For all the trouble the command center had at times in catching subversives, it was not such a big city, lacking an underground network of the same scale as the one in Central. And Hawkeye hadn’t grown up far from the area, so it didn’t surprise Roy that she still had acquaintances here. Government officials and vigilantes were alike in this manner: they were only as successful as their connections, and Hawkeye was one of the best in the business. 

Roy had heard stories about her, in the time that they’d been apart. Nothing with a name attached, but he couldn’t mistake the description. A woman with eyes like a bird of prey and the carriage of a soldier tearing up the Eastern front, singlehandedly defeating a pack of raiders that came to pillage a camp of Ishvalan refugees. 

So, someone loyal to her, or at the very least someone interested in getting paid, had alerted her to the growth of a new sect in East City with a mind to stage a coup. Usually such threats were laughable at best, but then Hawkeye discovered they had a man on the inside.

“But she doesn’t know who?”

“That’s where we come in,” the General had said, and continued with his explanation.

After hearing about the faction, Hawkeye had launched her own investigation. Information was hard to come by—whoever these punks were, they knew how to keep a secret—but a few days ago she’d been able to trail a suspect from outside a heavily-guarded hideout to the military dorms. 

_It was dark, and he was wary, so I couldn’t get a good look at his face. He wasn’t too tall or short, with a medium build and fair hair. Know any guys like that?_

There were, of course, too many guys like that, and even though the description narrowed the pool a little, it wasn’t much to go on. The hideout was a dead lead too—when Hawkeye had returned the next morning to try and find a way in, the place had been cleared.

“So they must know we found them out.”

“Not necessarily, but they’ll be suspicious. So you’ll have to be especially careful.”

“Are you suggesting a subterfuge?” 

And that was how he’d wound up here, hiding in the bathroom from a party that awaited his arrival. There he would become Roy Mustang, the philandering young lieutenant colonel, star of the town’s rumormill, soon to be joined by his dazzling and mysterious new girlfriend. As an unknown variable, Hawkeye could move more freely through both the sectors of government influence and the shadow world beneath. She would report her findings to Roy, and he would use the resources at his disposal to piece together the clues. And to maintain their illusion, the two of them would appear in public as a couple, the latest link in Roy’s string of conquests. 

Tonight’s occasion was a military ball, held every year to celebrate the start of summer and give the officers a break from monotony. Roy would arrive fashionably late, as usual, and meet up with his plus-one inside. Hawkeye had yet to make an appearance, either to him or to the General, but in her message she’d been quite clear about attending the party. _With most of the major operatives in this city distracted by the ball, it’s the perfect opportunity for a first strike. We can’t miss this chance._

Even after everything, Roy found he couldn’t just erase the trust he’d once had in her, but the years spent as a dog of the state had made him cautious. It was an awful lot to take on faith. 

“How did she even get into contact with you?” Roy had asked, after the briefing was finished, and the General had smiled at him almost pityingly. 

“Good luck with your mission, Roy.”

It still gave him an unpleasant nagging sensation in the back of his brain to think about it. 

That was a problem for the future, however, because it was time for Roy to make his entrance. He gave himself one last once-over in the mirror, making sure his hair was slicked back in his signature rakish-yet-classy style, something it was obvious he’d put effort into but wouldn’t show (he hoped) the hour he’d spent fretting in the bathroom of his apartment. This was not so standard for him, but then again, this was hardly a standard occasion. 

He could hear music drifting out from the ballroom as he made his way through the tiled halls. He wondered if Hawkeye was there already, although he couldn’t see how she’d have managed to get past the officers on watch without a ticket. The woman he’d known could sneak her way into any situation, but she was here deliberately to be noticed. 

As he passed the entry hall, he heard a commotion at the front door, and paused in his steps. There, trying to shoulder her way past the two sentries, was a woman in a green dress. 

He’d be lying if he said she looked exactly the same as the last time he saw her—but after all, she’d been pointing a gun at him then. And now, of course, she was in disguise, lest some old Academy classmate or war buddy recognize her. 

Her outfit was perfect, because it was the sort of thing she’d never have chosen for her personal use, trendier than her usual tastes, with frills and heels and full make-up. She looked like someone who knew her place amongst high society, and not Riza Hawkeye, the girl who’d grown up in a large, empty house outside a small, empty town, in isolation. 

Roy immediately strode over in her direction, and the guards stopped.

“C—Colonel Mustang.”

“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?”

They exchanged a nervous glance—they were only sergeants, by the stars on their shoulders, and had evidently heard of his reputation. The one on the left was first to speak up.

“It’s this woman, sir. She claims she knows you, and that you invited her here to the party. We’ll take care of it.”

“No need,” Roy said, and extended his hand to her, grateful that it only trembled a little. “This lovely lady is my date tonight.” 

If he had been in any sort of mood to appreciate humor, he would have been in danger of laughing aloud at the expressions on the sentries’ faces. The one on the right’s jaw actually fell open in a mix of surprise and apparent envy, and Roy knew that by the end of the night this story would be added to the collection his rivals liked to pass around about him. Good. To their minds it would legitimize the connection between him and Hawkeye, at least for now. 

From the subtle glint of triumph in her eyes, she knew it. She took his hand, gloved fingers brushing only barely against his, and hopped daintily over the threshold. Roy steered the two of them towards the party, the guards still gaping behind them. 

In the doorway of the ballroom, he took a moment just to look at her. 

_Riza_ , he thought, _here_ , and his heart, which had gone still when he first caught sight of her, now did a funny sort of flip in his chest. He knew if he stared any longer he’d never stop, so he gave her a bow. 

What he said was: “Miss Elizabeth. Always a pleasure.”

“Always?” She arched an eyebrow. “I do not believe we are quite so friendly yet, Mr. Mustang.”

“Not even when we were younger?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could think, and he regretted them instantly. Her coolly amused smirk dropped, and her expression hardened. 

“That’s in the past.”

“Of course.” He bit his lip. “I won’t mention it again.”

“Good.” And then the brightness returned to her face, not a bit genuine but dazzling nonetheless. She took his arm. “Shall we tour the party, Mr. Mustang?” 

“By all means.” 

The two of them made the rounds, as Roy chatted with the higher-ups and his subordinates alike. (Havoc took one look and spun around in the opposite direction, muttering something along the lines of “that smug bastard has all the damn luck.”) The entire time Hawkeye hardly spared Roy a glance, except to make eyes at him whenever they were in front of someone important. She spoke to him only briefly, and always in pleasantries, an absent comment on the weather or a thank-you for bringing her champagne, nothing to do with their mission. Roy was itching to ask her—well, everything, but rationally he knew their time together was limited, and he should keep his questions to the task at hand. 

At last, after a few minutes Roy spent sucking up to a major general, they were left alone, with no potential eavesdroppers in close proximity, and Hawkeye turned to him. 

“You know the plan, I assume.” 

“General Grumman briefed me on the information you gave him.” Roy paused. “He’s putting a lot of faith in a deserter.” 

“He has no choice. It’s trust me, or risk the country.” Hawkeye drained the last of her champagne and set the empty flute on a nearby tray. “Besides, he has you to keep an eye on me.”

She didn’t seem particularly perturbed by that. _And why should she?_ Roy thought, more bitterly than he would have liked. He caught her looking at him out of the corner of her eye, brow furrowed in what could have been concern, and for a moment she appeared almost a teenager again.

_Riza, in the kitchen, slapping his wrist with a spoon. “It’s not ready yet. How are you going to survive the Academy?”_

_“Miserably,” Roy said, grinning at her, and then stole a ladleful of the soup. She shook her head at him, smiling back, but she couldn’t free the concern from her eyes, and it wasn’t, they both knew, because of his cooking._

Now, Hawkeye wore the same light, empty expression that she displayed for the military officials, though she looked like she rather wanted to slap him. That, at least, was familiar territory. Roy set his own drink down, hardly touched, and put a hand to the small of her back. Her spine stiffened, but she didn’t flinch. 

“Elizabeth, dear. For the sake of our charade, I believe it would be appropriate for us to dance.”

He almost expected her to turn him down, but she only nodded, pragmatic as ever. Roy held out his hand.

“Will you do me the honor?”

She gave him a thin smile. “How could I refuse?”

The orchestra at the end of the hall picked up a new tune, some slow fiddle melody that seemed familiar to him, or maybe that was just Hawkeye’s hand in his reminding him of a memory that didn’t really exist, a dream from another time. Out on the center tile, officers swayed along with the music, maintaining a respectable distance from their partners, spouses or co-workers or city flings. The laws against fraternization within the military were strict, but they could be overlooked for one night for a dance between friends, provided it was only that. Roy would have to take more liberties with Hawkeye, to maintain his persona, but he’d warn her in advance if he was about to do anything to convince the public that they truly were a couple. 

Hawkeye kept her gaze fixed at a point past his left shoulder, standing only as close to him as would be reasonable for two adults who were pretending to be in a relationship. She didn’t miss a step, and Roy thought again of a faraway age, now lost. 

“Do you remember the year you had to take dancing lessons?” he asked.

For just a moment, her smile seemed a little more sincere. 

“With that horrible Madame Fioni and those idiots from the boys’ school,” she said. “They always stepped on my toes.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“You were busy. And besides, as I recall, I did ask you to help me practice. _You_ turned me down.”

“Did you ask me?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “From where I stood it sounded more like a scolding.”

She looked like she was on the cusp of a retort, but then she sighed, and bowed her head.

“No more stories. Let’s just get the job done.”

She turned her head away from him, and they were silent a while. The music had shifted again, and now the dancers moved to the lively tempo of a Southern folk tune. It was one Roy remembered his aunt playing through the dusty radio on the bar counter when he helped her clean up after a long night. He’d been fond of it then, but here it was jarring, too cheerful for the solemnity that had crept upon him. 

“May I ask you something?” 

“I suppose I can’t stop you.”

“Why are you doing all this? Why not do it yourself, instead of taking the information to the General?”

“Why?” Now she did look at him. “Who better to root out a spy than the ones being spied on? I had to make sure your ignorance wouldn’t create further damage.” She paused, and her voice grew softer. “Honestly, I would be content to see the military burn itself to the ground. But these people, what they’re planning…I don’t want another war.” 

“Even if it means you’ll be executed when this is over?”

“Executed?” She shook her head. “You’re mistaken, Mr. Mustang. Your general is too clever to let me slip through his fingers that way. Even if it means I escape, I’m still more useful to this country alive.” 

Roy wished he shared her confidence. She looked like she was about to say something else, but just then, there was a thundering roar from somewhere outside, and the foundation of the building rattled. In the split second before everything fell apart, he met Hawkeye’s gaze, alert and alarmed, and knew they were both thinking the same thing.

_They’re here._


	3. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Obviously alchemy had been involved somehow, but that was just it. Compared to most alchemical explosions, this wouldn’t even qualify as child’s play. During the war, Kimblee had been able to bring down an entire street at the clap of his hands. (And here Roy took a moment to shudder, glad the bastard was locked up in prison—if this had been his work, they’d all be dead.)"

At the sound of the explosion, Roy and Hawkeye dove for cover behind a nearby refreshment table. From the look of things, the blast hadn’t managed to hit the hotel itself, but it must have struck awfully nearby. The ballroom had been overtaken by pandemonium—in the confusion of the moment, even officers lost their composure. Amidst the chaos, the back door, the one leading out into the street, had been left unattended. Hawkeye pointed to it just in time for Roy to see it swing shut, and the two of them locked eyes. He jerked his head in the direction of the door, and she nodded. 

Together, they crept along the wall as quickly as they were able, reaching the exit without interruption. Outside, the night was cool—or it would have been, were it not for the flames rolling off the next building over. It was not a very important location—only a six-story rental space for businesses—but Roy doubted that it had been the intended target. 

“Should we call the fire brigade?”

He had to shout a bit over the din; it seemed everyone within a three-block radius had run outside when they heard the noise. Hawkeye shook her head.

“If someone hasn’t already, they will soon,” she said. “We need to focus on the mission.” 

She frowned up at the columns of fire, and Roy had the sudden, childish urge to remind her that at least he wasn’t the one who had created it, this time. In the alley next to the building, he saw what looked like a pile of blue cloth, haphazardly deposited among the shadows. He pointed.

“Three guesses as to where our suspect went.”

Hawkeye started forward, and Roy noticed her put a hand to the folds of her skirt, as if to reassure herself. That was where she’d stashed her gun, then. 

Other than the discarded uniform, the alleyway was empty. The two of them began to search the non-scorched areas for any sign of a concealed entrance. There were a few windows, all too small for a person to fit through, but no doors or other discernable hatches. Roy pounded his first against the brick.

“Dammit,” he breathed, “we’ve lost him.” 

Hawkeye wasn’t listening. She walked over to the burning building, as close as the flames would allow, and stared up at it. Roy ran after her.

“What are you _doing_? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Do you notice anything odd about those windows?”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with…oh. _Oh_.”

All of the windows Roy could see, and the grilles and drainpipes too, had been subject to specific modifications, in direct violation of city safety ordinances. The changes weren’t immediately noticeable, because they were disguised by add-ons that bore the mark of some mid-level transmutation. Somewhere in that office was an illegal alchemy laboratory. 

“Now you get it,” Hawkeye said, with something that almost resembled her old grin. “Who do you think did that?”

“The most logical assumption would be our suspects.”

“Exactly. This is as close as you can get to the hotel without actually being inside it.”

“But if that’s the case…why would they blow up their own hideout?”

“To quickly conceal the evidence?” Hawkeye shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Something about that didn’t sit quite right with him, but there was no time to dwell on it. If they could find a way to (somewhat) safely get inside before the building was consumed completely, they might be able to salvage a clue. 

But before they could even get near the front door, the fire brigade arrived. The squad chief practically barreled Roy over, and he followed her, all set to come up with some excuse on the spot, but Hawkeye held him back. 

“We’ll only get in the way.”

“I need to see what’s inside that building.”

He tried to move forward, but he couldn’t twist out of her iron grip on his shoulder. He spun around to glare at her, but faltered beneath her gaze—steady and fierce, but somehow lacking the anger he’d caught earlier in the evening. The tension went out of his spine, and after a moment, she released him.

“Better now?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “You should stay here. It won’t do for the public to see the military abandon them in a time of need.”

Roy didn’t miss the note of irony in her voice. “What about you?”

“I’ll keep looking around in case anything turns up. We can meet back up at your apartment later tonight.”

She was gone before Roy could ask her how she knew where he lived, melted back into the shadows. He returned his attention to the smoldering mass ahead of him. One of the passing firefighters dropped a bucket in front of him and he raced to the nearest hose to fill it up. After that, everything was a blur of smoke and water and shouts in the night. 

It was several hours later when he returned home, his evening finery covered in soot and his hair in complete disarray. But at least they’d been successful in dousing the flames before they could damage any of the surrounding area. 

The military would send an investigator out to the scene tomorrow, but in the meantime, Roy had been able to take his own look. He might not be a forensics expert, but explosions were a specialty of his, and from what he could tell, this hadn’t actually been a terribly large one. After the fire was extinguished, the brigade (plus Roy) had searched the building for anyone still trapped inside. Fortunately, it seemed there had only been a couple of people within the scope of the blast’s immediate radius, and they had already been rushed to the hospital. 

Inside, there had been no sign of a bomb, but there was plenty of evidence for hasty transmutation. The site of the explosion was instantly obvious—the whole of the back right corner had been blasted clear away, going up several stories. In spite of this, and the fire too, the building had managed to retain some semblance of its initial structural integrity. That surprised Roy, given that they’d felt the shock of the blast even from the Grand Hotel, and along with the surprise came suspicion. 

Obviously alchemy had been involved somehow, but that was just it. Compared to most alchemical explosions, this wouldn’t even qualify as child’s play. During the war, Kimblee had been able to bring down an entire street at the clap of his hands. (And here Roy took a moment to shudder, glad the bastard was locked up in prison—if this had been his work, they’d all be dead.)

Whatever, or whoever, had caused the explosion, it seemed designed not to do extensive physical damage, but to grab attention. The noise, the fire, the confusion—in the midst of the turmoil, a convoy of Drachman soldiers could have walked by and no one would have noticed. So what was it? A distraction, or a warning? 

Back in his apartment, Roy set about making a pot of coffee. No doubt Hawkeye would have her theories as soon as she arrived. He checked the clock next to the stove and saw that it was thirty minutes past midnight. The explosion had taken place nearly four hours ago.

There was no reason to be concerned, he reminded himself. Hawkeye could take care of herself, and four hours wasn’t so long a time. Putting out the fire had taken a while, and whatever she’d been doing, it probably hadn’t been any easier. 

Still, as the hands of the clock crept by, and the hour went from twelve to one, then two in the morning, Roy grew increasingly anxious. She should have arrived by now, and the fact that she wasn’t here meant either she was in trouble, or she’d betrayed him.

Neither was a very encouraging prospect.

He was tempted to go out and scour the city, but the lone voice of reason left in his brain reminded him that not only would this be completely pointless, but terribly rash as well. Finally, he decided to go to bed, but as much as he tossed and turned, sleep wouldn’t come.

Grumman had ordered him to report to Eastern Command the next morning, so Roy rose at his usual time and walked his usual route to work. Even the routine couldn’t trick him into thinking this was a normal day, and any delusions he might have had would have faded when the General ushered him into his office without a word, locking the door behind them. That door was only locked for the most important conversations. 

But when Roy started to ask what was going on, General Grumman cut him off, and it wasn’t to make any mention of the mission. 

“This afternoon, a Xingese diplomat and his entourage will be arriving at the East City train station. I would like you to escort him to his hotel.” 

Roy frowned. “But sir, my assignment with Hawke—

The General erupted into a fit of coughing. Roy glanced around the room, but there was no one else in sight. They were on the third floor, which voided the possibility of anyone listening at the window, and the hallway had been empty when Roy arrived. That left tapping as the only option. But who could have the ability to bug the office of the post’s commander?

“My appointment with Elizabeth,” Roy said. “We were supposed to have coffee this afternoon. But I haven’t heard back from her, so I guess I’m available after all.”

“I’m sure your girlfriend is busy with something important.”

Did that mean he knew where she was? The General’s face was impossible to read. 

“If I escort this diplomat,” said Roy, “won’t that pull me away from my other duties?”

“This takes priority.”

The look on his face didn’t invite further comment, so Roy swallowed his questions and managed a nod. General Grumman slipped him a scrap of paper, gesturing for him to remain silent. 

“When you’re not too busy, you should play another round of chess with me,” he said, and his voice rang out too loud in the stillness of the air. “It’s a valuable game for people like us.”

Roy knew this was his dismissal. As soon as he left, he found his way to the nearest bathroom and locked himself inside one of the stalls. There, he unfurled the paper.

_Act normally, and go about your business. At 2:30 pm, be waiting at the station for Mr. Lin. Don’t go alone, but don’t let anyone see who accompanies you. Stay alert._

He read the note a second time, and then burned it with a snap of his fingers. 

None of this was making any sense. Hawkeye, Grumman—had they really only communicated just the once, through that simple message? It seemed unlikely. And how did this business with Mr. Lin factor into the mission?

Now more than ever he needed to be able to talk freely, but that was a luxury he didn’t have. He took a deep breath, stomaching the alarm as best he could, and returned to his office. 

As per the General’s instructions, he tried to behave normally. He put off his paperwork and teased his subordinates, and when he pulled Havoc aside to ask him to keep watch over the party at the train station, he turned the radio up as loud as it would go. Havoc was confused by the proposal, understandably, but he accepted, so now all Roy had to do was get himself to the station on time. 

There was no sign of anything amiss when he arrived, though he kept to the General’s advice and remained vigilant. Across the street, he could see the window that Havoc had stationed himself behind, sniper rifle at the ready in case things got ugly. As Roy waited, he felt Riza’s absence more keenly than ever. Havoc was a decent shot, but nothing could compare to the Hawk’s Eye. 

That was all counting on the fact that she really was on his side, of course. 

Mr. Lin turned out to be a modest, graceful man, who spoke the language of Amestris with only the slightest trace of an accent. He introduced his three companions as a Ling Yao, Lan Fan, and Mr. Fu. The former two seemed young, though it was hard to tell Lan Fan’s age, given the mask, and the third companion was old enough to be a grandfather. It was a strange party, made stranger by the cling of unease Roy had felt ever since the previous night. 

They made it onto the pavement without incident, but just as they were rounding the corner, a gunshot rang out, the bullet whizzing past Roy’s left ear. Lan Fan and Mr. Fu sprang in front of Ling and the diplomat, crouched in ready position. As Roy looked up ahead, his heart sank.

There, standing not ten meters away from them, was a cluster of armed Ishvalans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you mean I created an entire subplot with a Xingese diplomat as an excuse to write about Ling and Lan Fan?


	4. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She shook her head at him, running a rag along the barrel of her gun. “I think you enjoy teasing me too much.” 
> 
> “And I always will.”
> 
> “Is that a promise?”
> 
> “Yes,” he said, and he knew she’d been joking, but he couldn’t help the conviction in his voice. “I promise.”

For a heartbeat both groups were still, and time seemed to stretch the moment into a hundred, before speeding it back into a confrontation. Everything happened so fast that Roy couldn’t tell which side began it—the Xingese guard, or the Ishvalans. There were more gunshots, and the silver flash of a grenade in Mr. Fu’s hands. A smoke bomb. Under cover of the smog, they turned and raced down the block. Lan Fan and Ling Yao ran ahead, Mr. Fu behind, with Roy and Mr. Lin in the center. 

“Are you alright?” Roy asked him.

The diplomat nodded. “Those people. Who were they?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Roy confessed. “Don’t worry. The military will take care of it.”

He could hear the Ishvalans chasing after them now. Around them, passersby flinched out of the way or stared with wide eyes and open mouths. A bullet flew past Roy’s head, and Ling glanced over at him. 

“Are you armed, military man?”

“I don’t need to be.”

Roy snapped his fingers and sent a burst of flame snaking towards their nearest pursuer. The man jerked to the side, but the sleeve of his jacket got singed, and he fell back a few paces. Ling stopped walking a moment, impressed, but Lan Fan grabbed his arm and hauled him forward. 

“Young Lord. Don’t get distracted.”

_Young Lord._ Roy filed that away as an avenue to investigate when they were out of mortal peril. Where the hell was Havoc? And Hawkeye, while he was at it. 

And then, as if the thought had conjured her, a woman leapt between Roy’s party and the Ishvalans, throwing out her arms. The two figures at the head of the group went still in their tracks. 

“It’s you,” one of them said. The other made a quick survey of the scene—the three Xingese warriors and Roy with the diplomat, Hawkeye ahead, unmoving—and seemed to come to a conclusion. 

“Move out!” she called, and instantly the Ishvalans scattered, making for the nearby alleyways. Roy started to go after them, but Hawkeye’s hand came practically out of nowhere to hit him across the chest. He dropped to his knees, wheezing. Behind him, he felt Lan Fan bristle. 

“Who is this woman?”

“I’m not here to harm you,” Hawkeye said, yanking Roy to his feet. The four members of the Xingese party looked to him for confirmation, and he nodded, still too winded to speak.

“We’ll have to move fast,” Hawkeye said, already starting forward again. “I’m afraid the hotel isn’t safe for you right now. Follow me.”

None of them dared ask where she was taking them. Several times Roy tried to catch her eye, or draw her aside, but she only slowed once, to tell him to guard the rear. After that, she was silent. 

Their destination turned out to be a warehouse in the business district, tucked away behind a restaurant and a legal office. Hawkeye unlocked one of the doors and dragged it open. 

Inside was a large, empty space, with a table and a cupboard in one of the far corners. Above it was a loft with a small window, the only one in the building that hadn’t been painted over, lending a small column of sunlight to their otherwise dim surroundings. 

“Is this place really safe?”

“For now.” Hawkeye picked a lamp off the floor and held it out for Roy to light, as if by reflex. She turned to face the group. “Mr. Lin, Lord Yao—it would be best if you and your guards could rest here for tonight. I’m sorry that it won’t be as comfortable as your hotel room, but your security is our priority. There’s some bedding in the cabinet near the back.”

“What about you?” Ling asked.

“The Lieutenant Colonel and I must leave to report this incident, but I’ve sent for another pair of sentries to watch over you. Until then, we’ll wait here.”

Roy frowned. “When did you—

“When I first heard the gunshot outside the train station.” She didn’t look at him. “I’m sorry it took me so long to jump in.”

“You came to our aid, regardless.” Mr. Lin extended his hand to her. “Might I learn your name before I thank you?”

“That’s not important.”

“Please. I insist.”

She bit her lip. “Very well. You can call me Elizabeth.”

“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.”

_“I think we should have codenames for each other,” Roy said, one day. From the counter where she was cleaning her hunting rifle, Hawkeye gave him a skeptical look._

_“Codenames?”_

_“Sure. In case we ever work undercover.”_

_“What would we need to go undercover for?”_

_“I don’t know. An investigation.”_

_She put her hands on her hips. “Roy Mustang, what on Earth is there for us to investigate here?”_

_“I’ll find something,” he said, giving her his best pleading expression. She threw up her hands._

_“Fine. This is ridiculous, but fine.”_

_“Alright. We’ll call you…Elizabeth.”_

_“Why Elizabeth?”_

_He shrugged. “It’s a pretty name. Like…like you.”_

_She shook her head at him, running a rag along the barrel of her gun. “I think you enjoy teasing me too much.”_

_“And I always will.”_

_“Is that a promise?”_

_“Yes,” he said, and he knew she’d been joking, but he couldn’t help the conviction in his voice. “I promise.”_

Hawkeye put a hand on his wrist, jerking him out of his thoughts. 

“Help me secure the perimeter.”

“Hawkeye. What is all this? Where have you been?”

“I can explain everything later. First we need to take care of them.”

She looked over to where Lan Fan and Mr. Fu were laying out the bedrolls, while Mr. Lin sat writing at the table and Ling Yao searched through an assortment of cans for dinner.

“This won’t be enough.”

“I’ll buy something.” Roy bowed to Mr. Lin. “My soundest apologies for these poor conditions.”

“Be careful,” Hawkeye murmured, as he left.

The afternoon had now faded to early evening. Workers from the nearby offices lined up at the restaurant counter, too engrossed in their conversations to raise an eyebrow when Roy wrapped his food to carry with him. He took a careful look around as he walked back to the warehouse, but saw only a few stray pedestrians laden with shopping bags, none of whom were paying him the slightest bit of attention.

When he arrived, he saw Riza discussing something with two uniformed figures. One of them turned around to grin at him.

“Your replacements are here.”

“Havoc,” Roy growled. “Where were you earlier, when we needed you?”

“Your girlfriend came running in to tell me you were in trouble, and that I should find Lieutenant Catalina and bring her here as quickly as possible.”

Roy didn’t have a response for that, which Havoc took as a sign of his victory. He went back to Catalina to gloat, and Roy turned to Hawkeye.

“Havoc I know we can trust, but what about her?” And he thought: _I don’t even know if I can trust you._

“She’s loyal, and she knows her way around a gun.”

“Looks like we get to have that meeting at my apartment after all.”

“My place would be better.”

She met his gaze, finally, neither ashamed nor proud. “Her place” turned out to be a motel room on the outskirts of town, one of those cheap rentals with rats in the basement and plumbing that worked sporadically at best. 

“I suppose being a vigilante doesn’t pay well.”

“Only if you’re not in it for the money.” 

Roy planted his feet and stood, arms crossed, barring the door. “I think it’s time you told me what’s really going on here.”

“I don’t _know_ what’s going on.” She glared at him, but he wouldn’t budge. After a moment, she sighed, and stalked over to the armchair in the corner, sinking to a seat. 

“You can stop guarding the exit now,” she said. “I’m not going to leave.”

Roy considered holding his ground, but he thought he might not get to hear her story unless he cooperated, so he sat reluctantly at the edge of the bed. “First, tell me one thing. How long have you and Grumman been conspiring?”

“It’s not what you think. He’s my grandfather.”

Whatever Roy had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. For the moment he was so caught off-guard that he forgot to be angry. 

“Your…grandfather?”

“I only found out a year ago,” she said, “when he came to visit me in the slum that I’d been hired to defend. He said he wanted to make me a deal.” 

“That’s treason.”

“And what you’re doing now isn’t?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “He offered me a full pardon if I’d help him uncover a conspiracy in East City. I didn’t care about the pardon, at first, but when he told me he feared another war, it was enough to sway me.”

“So this ‘new faction’ isn’t so new after all.”

“They can’t have begun operations long before Grumman found me. The two of us, along with a couple of others who are loyal and sworn to secrecy, have been monitoring their activities ever since. I’ve spent the past six months undercover, gathering information. Now we’ve finally found an opportunity to make our move against them, so we cut you in.”

Roy’s fingers tightened into fists. “And you…you left me in the dark about it for this long, knowing that if I could I’d do anything to help—to see you again?”. 

“I didn’t have much choice,” she said, ignoring the latter part of his sentence. “The whole city has its eyes on you, Colonel. We had to be very careful what we told you, and when, or else the entire plan could have been ruined, and we’d be at war already.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“My roommate from the Academy, Rebecca Catalina. And your friend from the court office, Captain Hughes, has been looking through past cases for leads.”

“He’s Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, now. And he’s not much of a friend if he can’t even tell me you’re alive.”

Hawkeye’s gaze dropped to the floor. “He didn’t know. No one I associated with before the war knows, except Rebecca, and she only found out by accident. And then she recruited Havoc—

“ _Havoc_ is in on this too? Who in this city _haven’t_ you told?”

“He’s helped us a few times, but only because Rebecca got him involved. He doesn’t have most of the information you do.”

“And how much information do I have?”

They held each other’s gazes, stubborn with the heat of frustration, neither of them willing to budge. Roy had the sudden, senseless urge to march up to her and pull her to him, as if that would make her understand. He let out a shaky breath, reminding himself to think only of the mission, and closed his eyes. 

“Mr. Lin and the Xingese company. Are they involved?”

“Not to their knowledge,” Hawkeye said. “Mr. Lin isn’t just any emissary. He’s a chief advisor to the Emperor of Xing, and with him is the young prince of the Yao clan. We tried to keep his arrival as quiet as possible, but our opponents’ little spy must have gotten the information for them. If ever there was an opportunity for a diplomatic incident, it’s this.”

Roy found it in himself to nod slowly. “And those Ishvalans…

“They must have been working for the subversives. It’s a cheap fearmongering tactic, but it does its job.” Hawkeye rubbed the back of her neck. “I expect tomorrow’s headlines are already being written: ‘Red-Eyed Radicals Attack Busy Train station.’ And then the East is a step closer to another war.”

It was then that Roy noticed how tired she looked. She sat back in her chair, wiping a hand across her forehead, and sighed again. “I know those people, and they wouldn’t attack without a reason. I doubt they have any qualms with the Xingese ambassador, so…

“So they’ve been given an incentive.”

“Exactly. Money would be too mercenary for Lucretia and Aren, although some of the others might take that sort of offer—they don’t have much, anymore.”

_We took that from them._ Roy felt the familiar sensation of guilt unfurl in his stomach, the one that woke itself up whenever he was trying to sleep, or when he looked at Hawkeye and saw only who she used to be. 

“My guess is they’re either getting paid, or threatened. Both are powerful motivators.” 

“But why would someone want to go to all this trouble?”

Before she could answer, the door to the room burst open. Roy was on the ground, his arms pinned above his head, before he had the chance to register what was happening. At first, he had the wild thought that the military police had come to arrest him for treason, but then he heard a voice, the same one he’d heard just that afternoon. 

“Get his gloves.”

Roy struggled against the two Ishvalans holding him, but their combined strength proved to be more than a match for his best efforts, and he felt the fabric being ripped away from him. He struggled harder, to no avail. 

“What do they want with him?”

That was a note he hadn’t heard in Hawkeye’s voice for a long time—fear. 

“Nothing,” the Ishvalan woman told her—Lucretia, Hawkeye had said her name was. Her voice was gentle; an odd contrast to the violence of her entrance. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. We’re here for you.”

It was almost comical to hear that false name in the middle of such a serious sentence, an even more serious situation. It gave Roy a moment of distraction, and then the meaning behind her words sunk in, and he felt panic engulf him. 

“You can’t take her.”

“We have no other choice. They have our children.”

“They won’t have her too.”

“Let them take me, Roy.”

A sheet of ice went through him, stopping his heart and his thoughts cold. He raised his head, just enough so he could see her face. 

“Riza…

“I won’t let any more innocent people die because of me.”

“You can’t do this.” 

“I’m sorry.”

And from the look she gave him, then, her face filled with a genuine and searing regret, he thought his chest would tear in two. He mustered the last of his energy and lifted himself off the ground, fighting his way towards her as several of the intruders dragged her out the door. 

“ _Riza!_ ” He roared, throat raw and eyes stinging. “I’ll find you. I promise I’ll find you!” 

All that greeted him was the silence of her absence. He dropped to his knees, and for the first time in a very long while, he started to cry.


End file.
